


A Willing Sacrifice

by Strawberry_Requiem



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders Needs a Hug, Anders Positive, Childhood, Escape, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberry_Requiem/pseuds/Strawberry_Requiem
Summary: Hungry and tired from running from the Circle, Anders finds himself in a small village, home to an apostate family.





	

He didn't know where he was. Except far from the Circle. It was the only thing that mattered. For a day and a night he ran, ran through the trees, and the brush, and hid in the shadows. He wasn't a small boy by most standards; all the other boys at the Circle were half a head shorter than him, or more. But, he was good at hiding and fast.

Every noise he heard was surely a Templar hot on his heels. At least, that was what he told himself when the wind whistled through the branches or he passed a weary traveler.

Anders was too scared to check over his shoulder, afraid of finding an armored man with the Templar sword emblazoned on his breastplate, sword in one hand, and enchanted manticles in the other. It had happened before. And, if he wasn't careful, it would happen again.

Which was why he fled for a full day with no rest and no food.

His mouth was dry from thirst and his belly rumbled angrily. Anders longed for nothing more than a taste of his mother's potato soup and his bed to collapse into. He thought of her, the stained apron she wore and her hair the color of wheat—like his—and it brought tears to his eyes.

His back fell into a stone wall, unaware that it was the wall of a house. Anders hadn't even noticed that he had made it to a peaceful little hamlet, whose denizens were staring at the peculiar boy in robes, fresh into adolescence, sobbing against a wall. Even if he had noticed, he missed his mother, he missed his bed, and his house, and the barn he burned down on accident. Anders wanted to go home. But, he had no idea where home was from the Circle.

The crying attracted another child, several years younger than him. Anders had assumed, at first, that he wasn't what had caught their attention. It was a shared location of interest. Except, _he_ was their point of interest. Which became evident as they approached cautiously, curiously. He wiped away his tears hastily and attempted to square his jaw in order to appear brave and more adult than he felt. 

“Why are you dressed funny?” 

Anders stole a glance at the child. Probably around nine years, he figured, with a basket filled with bright, shiny apples. His stomach gave a great rumble upon his tongue swiping along his bottom lip in hunger. 

“I'm a Circle mage.” He responded bluntly. Perhaps not the smartest of ideas, given younger children often had loose lips. But, he was distraught, and the hunger was making it hard for him to think straight. 

The child's eyes widened and they hastily reached up in order to hold a finger to his lips in order to silence him. “We mustn't say such things!” They warned. 

“That I am a mage?”

“Shh!”

Anders didn't understand, but he also didn't argue. He felt too weak for arguments. Likewise, he was too busy fantasizing about stealing the child's basket and hiding somewhere while he devoured every last one. 

His stomach growled once more, determined not to be ignored. 

The child giggled at the interjection; Anders shrank in embarrassment.

“Come home with me.” It was a suggestion, but the child's tone of voice was commanding, far more than he would have imagined for a nine year old. “You can hide in our shed and I will bring you out something to eat.”

Anders was given little chance but to accept. The child grabbed for his hand and roughly tugged him through the village. He was powerless due to fatigue and hunger. That, and the prospect of somewhere dry to hide while he filled his belly was too seductive to resist. He didn't even know the child's name, nor did he care to ask; all he cared about was staying out of the Templar's gaze and getting something to eat.

Within minutes, the child had led him into a small shed that shared a wall with a house. Theirs, he assumed. Some tools lay abandoned, bits of scrap wood, burlap. And a staff, fit for an adult, with a bladed tip. He could faintly hear a toddler's crying on the other side of the wall, and the cooing of whom he suspected to be the mother, attempting to console the child.

“Stay here.” Instructed the child.” Mother is almost done with dinner. I will bring you some once I am able to sneak away.”

The child left, shutting the door to the shed behind them and leaving Anders in the dark. Moments later, he could hear the child entering the house, much to the dismay of the mother.  _What took you so long?_ He thought he heard.  _You had me so worried_ . Next was a man, whom had been silent the entire time.  _Relax, Leandra. They're fine, so we can eat_ .

The family ate silently, except for the mother trying to feed the toddler. No, a pair of toddlers. She switched names frequently, but neither seemed to be responded to by the child he had encountered. The smell of whatever they were eating wafted into the small shed, causing his mouth to salivate demandingly. Anders hoped that the child was swift in returning with his serving. 

Then, it went quiet, again. The mother collected their dishes, except the child's, who claimed that they were still hungry. While they did that, the father took both of the toddlers off to one of the bedrooms on the far side of the house. 

It wasn't long before the child crept back into the shed, juggling a wooden bowl and a crust of bread. Anders didn't even wait to be offered it; he tore it from the child's grasp and devoured every morsel without a care of how it was dribbling down his chin, or how he had an audience. All he knew was the feeling of his stomach being filled, to the point where he wasn't privy to anything around him. He licked the bowl clean, wishing that he had another serving. 

When he looked up, face stained brown with an indiscriminate brownish liquid, he saw them.

A man and a woman, each with a dark-haired child on their hip. Each baring a resemblance to the charitable child. With his wits about him, Anders suddenly felt guilty. It was their kindness towards him that was going to land them in trouble with their parents. 

“A boy?” Gasped the woman, surprised. The child on her hip was a young boy, making faces at their older sibling. “You're hiding a boy in the shed.”

“He was hungry, mother.” Whined the child pitifully. 

“Leandra.” The man was watching Anders carefully, studying everything about him. The look of his robes, his gaunt face and bruised body. “What is your name, son?”

“Ah...Anders.”

“Anders.” The man repeated, getting a feel for the name in his mouth. It was an unusual name, he knew. Not a proper one. One to describe people from the Anderfels. Not scrawny boys currently hiding in their shed. “You're a mage, aren't you?”

He scooted away from them, back flush with the wall. He hadn't questioned why he had been pegged so suddenly as a mage; he knew that the robes were a dead giveaway. In all of his escape attempts, Anders had come to not trust strangers. Because strangers would possibly report him back to the Templars. They seemed like decent people. Their child did, at least. But, were the adults the sort that could be trusted?

“We are friends, Anders.” The man said in a hushed tone. He walked a couple of cautious steps into the shed, his free hand cupped. Orange flames erupted from nowhere, dancing around his willowy fingers . The girl on his hips giggled and clapped joyously at the sight. She chanted something that sounded like 'again'. 

“Sirrah!” He gasped, watching, hypnotized, as the flames lapped at his skin without causing him any pain. “You're a—“

That was when he saw it, through the door, behind the man and his wife and children.  _Templars_ . He would recognize that armor anywhere. The woman glanced over her shoulder and spotted them before Anders had a chance to flee. Her face twisted in horror. For obvious reasons. If the Templars found out hr husband was a mage, they would take him away. She would be forced to raise three children on her own. 

“Malcolm?” She tapped his arm gently and pointed behind him. 

The man, Malcolm, turned his head to see what the source of the issue was. When he did, his face paled and a frown settled on his face. His magic ceased entirely. It was the look of true fear. 

“I didn't hear of any Templars coming through here.” He whispered to his wife. The child looked up to him sadly.

“What is going to happen, Papa?”

“I don't know.” He brushed the hair out of his young daughter's eyes.

Anders downcast his eyes. He knew the Templars were hunting him. They had his phylactery. They had, no doubt, been using it to track him to this small village. It was freedom that Anders craved. Real freedom, like this man had with his three children and his wife. But, not at the cost of tearing a family apart. A knot formed in his stomach as he swallowed hard, resigning to his decision. 

“Those Templars are looking for me.” He gulped back his fear. “I escaped the Circle yesterday; they must have used my phylactery to follow me here.” The bowl he still clutched was abandoned at his side. “If I turn myself over to them, they will not continue their search.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” Said Anders boldly, standing up in order to cement his conviction. “You should probably leave as soon as you can, though.”

And so he left. The Templars were surprised as he turned himself over, arms outstretched as he anticipated his manticles. Justifiably so, but he breathed no word of the apostate family. Of the apostate father just trying to provide for his family. Their memory kept him going. The family that he longed for so fervently. The family that seemed unattainable to a young boy cursed with magic. 

 


End file.
